


Breathe

by SuperKat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperKat/pseuds/SuperKat
Summary: The first wave of panic hits Keith out of nowhere.  One second, Lance is “catching him up” on everything that’s happened since he left Voltron, and the next second Keith has a flash of memory – the two of them, walking through this hall, talking and bantering, just like this – and suddenly his breath leaves him.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> TW: panic attack

The nightmares start right away.  He’s either flying or falling; it’s hard to tell.  One moment he’s alone, and the next moment the Blade or the rebels or – worst of all – the Voltron Paladins are there, cheering him on.  He finds footing briefly on the edge of a ravine that is bottomless and full of fire, but almost immediately a monster who is Kolivan and Shiro and neither at the same time pushes him in. 

 

He dies several times in one night.

 

There’s usually an explosion just before he lands, just before he wakes up, panting and sweating, adrenaline pulsing under his skin.  His chest is tight and his heart is pounding and it takes him ages to fall back asleep.

 

The tightness starts to creep up on him during the day, but Keith chalks it up to stagnation and uncertainty. They’ve parked themselves on a beautiful green planet with about seventeen moons, the Castle of Lions perched at the northern end of a valley, some of the larger ships from the rebels and the Blade of Marmora surrounding it.  A huge portion of the coalition fleet orbits the planet, guarding what some are calling their most important alliance yet.

 

The talks take place in a bunker, of sorts. Lotor isn’t restrained, but he _is_ surrounded.  So far, there are no reports of him trying anything, but everyone stays on high alert, just in case.  Still, one by one people start to believe that Lotor might be serious about this whole “switching-sides” deal, that it’s not an act or a cover at all.

 

For some reason, Keith can’t consider this option for more than a few seconds before feeling his heart pound or his chest tighten or the ground start to tilt underneath him. Even as the talks change from negotiations and surveillance to something resembling actual plans, Keith keeps himself on high alert because it’s all he can manage to do.

 

It comes as something of a relief when Shiro invites him to stay in the Castle.  Keith even smiles – for the first time since the battle – when Hunk whoops and wraps him in one of his bone-crushing hugs. The yellow Paladin rushes off to the kitchen to make a celebratory dinner, while Lance walks Keith to his old bedroom.

 

The first wave of panic hits Keith out of nowhere.  One second, Lance is “catching him up” on everything that’s happened, and the next second Keith has a flash of memory – the two of them, walking through this hall, talking and bantering, just like this – and suddenly his breath leaves him.  His heart pounds in his temples and ears, the floor rises and tilts dangerously under his feet, his peripheral vision turns dark, and he has to fight to draw in even a short, ragged breath.  Keith clutches his chest with one hand and braces himself against the wall with the other.

 

It’s a moment before he realizes that Lance is gipping him by the shoulders and saying his name. 

 

“Don’t know,” Keith gasps, unable to produce more than a few words before his air runs out, cutting him off with a wheeze. “What’s happening. Something is. Wrong. I can’t.”  The darkness is pressing in around him, the air in the hallway vanishing.  He has the wild thought that someone opened an outer door somewhere, that their oxygen is being sucked into space even though he knows that the Castle is on solid ground and they’re nowhere near an airlock.

 

A door hisses open nearby.  Lance is bracing him. “It’s alright. Come sit down.” He sounds strangely calm.  “I got you.”  At the sound of Lance’s voice, Keith feels his nerves calm for about a half-second before his chest re-tightens, worse than before. “You’re safe,” Lance says. Keith needs to cough but can’t draw in enough breath. “You’re okay.”

 

Slowly, Lance leads him into a room.  Keith’s knees are shaking violently, and he would definitely be on the floor if Lance wasn’t holding him up, but somehow they manage the short distance.  The door hisses shut behind them, and Keith realizes, despite the fog surrounding him, that he’s not in his old bedroom.  This room is different, the layout mirroring the room that used to be his.  For some reason the unfamiliarity helps.  Keith lets himself be led to the bed, all but collapsing when Lance sets him down. He’s on his side, curled up in almost the fetal position.  Lance crouches next to him.  

 

“Keith,” Lance’s voice, though practically nonchalant, pierces the fog that’s engulfing him.  “You’re having a panic attack.  You’re safe here.  You’re in my room.  Have you had one of these before?”

 

Keith coughs out a breath, shaking his head. “I.”  He’s going to die here, for no reason at all. It’s almost absurd.

 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just focus on my voice. We’re going to breathe together, you and me. Just copy what I do.”  Keith hears Lance inhale and tries to match it, he really tries, but there’s no air to take in.  His heart is pounding so hard he’s pretty sure it’s going to fail at any second. Everything is wrong and he is going to die here, trembling in Lance’s bed like a child. He hears Lance exhale and tries to push air out of his lungs, managing a short, stale puff like a cough. 

 

“Good,” says Lance, sounding genuinely pleased.  “That’s good. We’re gunna do it again.  This time I’m gunna count. Try to count with me.”  Inhale. It’s like trying to breathe in space, the infinite, cold vacuum that sucks out the air through a hole in his suit.  It’s cold and unforgiving and his lungs are starting to burn.  Silence for a moment.  Then: “One.  Two.  Three.” Keith tries to follow along, but his lips flap soundlessly. “Good,” says Lance, and Keith can’t believe he means it.  “You’re doing great. Again.”  Inhale. Hold. “Four.  Five.  Six.”

 

Keith manages to vocalize “five,” but his breath catches on “six” and he’s gasping again. He hadn’t noticed how much ground he’d gained until now that he’s lost it.  Everything is wrong and hopeless; after everything he had somehow, through some force of stupid, undeserved luck, managed to survive, he’s going to die gasping for air in Lance’s bedroom.

 

“You’re doing great, man,” says Lance, his voice gentle but firm.  “Just think about the numbers. Keep counting with me.” Inhale.  Hold. “Seven.  Eight.  Nine.” Keith follows along as best he can.  The effort feels and sounds pathetic, but Lance praises him again. They keep at it until somewhere in the twenties, when Keith finally feels the pressure on his chest subside.  He lays on his side for what must be hours, trembling all over and trying to block out everything except Lance’s voice and the sensation of air in his lungs.

 

Inhale.  Hold.  Exhale. He can feel his heartrate slow.  Inhale.  Hold.  Exhale.  Each breath comes easier than the last.  Inhale.  Hold.  Exhale.  The dizziness ebbs.  The room expands.  Inhale, hold, exhale. His vision clears.  Inhale, hold, exhale.  He pushes himself upright with hands that, he notices, are shaking violently.  Inhale, hold, exhale. “Keep it up,” Lance says.  “I’m gunna get you some water.  I’m not going far. Just keep breathing.  Count on your own if it helps.” 

 

Keith nods. Inhale, exhale.  He listens to the small hiss of the door to the bathroom. Inhale, exhale. 

 

Lance is back by his side, pressing a canteen of water into Keith’s trembling hands. “No rush.  Drink it when you’re ready.”  Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.  Keith takes a sip. The water is cold and soothing.  His mouth is dry, his throat prickling and scratchy.  Inhale, exhale.

 

Keith turns to look at Lance for the first time.  Lance smiles back, his gaze soft. He seems completely at ease.

 

Keith inhales. “How did you,” words fail him.  Slow exhale.  Inhale. “How did you know what.” Inhale, exhale. “Thank you.”

 

Lance chuckles. “Buddy, you are _not_ the first person I’ve talked through a panic attack.  It’s, like, my secret specialty.”  That’s…weird, but okay.  “You don’t need to thank me.  Just keep breathing, and drink the rest of that.” 

 

Keith finishes the water, grateful for the silence.  Lance collects the empty canteen and sets it aside while Keith rests his forehead in his hands, exhaling slowly and closing his eyes.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Keith shakes his head, mostly because there’s nothing to talk about, and he knows Lance won’t believe him when he says this came out of nowhere. Keith grits his teeth and swallows hard, feeling a lump starting to rise in his throat.  He is _not_ going to cry in Lance's bed for no reason on his first day back in the castle. He is  _not._

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, but Lance hushes him.

 

“This is not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.  I’m here if you want to talk.”

 

Keith has no reply.  He squeezes his eyes shut and vigorously rubs his index finger against his thumb.  Inhale, hold.  The exhale is undeniably shaky but Lance doesn’t comment.  Keith still feels on edge, like something under his skin is buzzing and at any second the walls could vanish, leaving him alone in the dark and cold of space with no one there to pick him up.  Lance sits next to him in silence for what feels like hours.

 

“Hey,” says Lance, shaking Keith out of a reverie. “Dinner is gunna be soonish, probably.  I’ll bring it to you, if you want.”  Keith shakes his head.  He doesn’t want to sit here anymore, doesn’t want Lance to leave him alone in this space. Yet he also doesn't wan't to face people. He doesn’t know what he  _does_ want, doesn’t know anything except that the wrong choice will leave him gasping again.

 

“Do you ever,” he says.  Inhale, hold, exhale.  Try again.  “D’you ever feel like. Like you shouldn’t be.  Here?  Like you shouldn’t.  Be alive?”

 

Lance lets out a wry laugh almost like a cough.  “All the time, man.”   It helps.  It doesn’t help.  Nothing makes sense.

 

“I.” This is absurd. Keith finds himself momentarily unsure he’s not in the midst of another nightmare. “I was so close.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance replies, his voice low.  “So were we.  So was _Voltron._   It’s surreal, right? I think about it a lot.”  That should help. Why isn’t it helping?  Why does Keith still feel like he’s seconds away from losing himself entirely?

 

“No,” Keith says, his voice hoarse and cracking.  He feels like he’s floating outside of his body, watching himself talk.  His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his whole body trembling. “I mean. I was going to die.  To save you.  My ship.  The shield.  Then Lotor came.  And.  And. It was done. And now.” He’s making no sense.  Keith returns to his body just in time to feel his heart start pounding again.  Inhale.  Hold.  Keep holding. Exhale. Inhale. 

 

Lance doesn’t respond for what could be several seconds or several hours. It’s hard to tell.  When he does talk, his voice is small, tentative.

 

“Can I hug you?”

 

Keith takes a moment to process the question, then nods.  Lance wraps one arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a bewildering half-hug. Something inside Keith shatters and he’s suddenly sobbing, his body limp, his face hot and damp. Everything is wrong.  He needs to start over. This is another nightmare, and he’s not entirely certain he wants to wake up.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Lance is saying to him.  “I had no idea.”

 

“It was.  I just.”  Inhale. Shudder. Exhale. “It was right. The right thing to do.  You were.” Inhale. Exhale. “I had to.”  Keith pushes himself upright and buries his face in his hands.

 

“I know.”  Lance’s hand is gripping Keith’s shoulder. “In your position, I’d‘ve probably done the same thing. But still. No wonder you’re having a rough time.  I’m so sorry, man.”

 

“I.”  Inhale.  Hold. Keep holding.  Exhale. “I think. I miss Voltron.  I know I can’t.  Come back.  But.”  Inhale.  Hold. Exhale. “I don’t want to go back.  To the Blade.”  He doesn’t realize it’s true until he says it.  The admission is terrifying, liberating, exhilarating. He regrets it immediately.

 

“Okay,” says Lance.  “Okay. I get it.  Totally.  I mean, look what they’ve done to you.”

 

That makes no sense, but Keith doesn’t let himself dwell on it.  Everything in front of him is darkness and there’s nowhere left to run.  He’s supposed to be dead. He has nowhere to go.  Inhale, hold, exhale.

 

“We’ll talk to Shiro tomorrow,” Lance continues.  “You and me.  Or just you, if you want. Like you once said: these things will work themselves out. For now? You’re safe. We’ve got you. The only thing you need to think about is whether you’re up for dinner.”

 

Keith nods.  He’s crying again.  How long has he been crying? Did he ever stop?  They sit in silence for what feels like another hour, Lance gripping his shoulder and Keith listening to the sounds of his own body gradually regaining control over itself.

 

Exhale. 

 

Inhale.

 


End file.
